A ride

Since when do I ride a bike? When it's important, because this time it is. I'm pushing really hard, but it doesn't feel like I'm getting anywhere faster. My muscles ache, more and more, and more as we fly by cedar shingles and the curtained windows. What if I was going in the wrong direction. All this extra effort I'm putting in would only serve to create more work for when I would have to turn around.

That's what she's doing. Going in the wrong direction. I've been there before, with the water, and the fire, and the promises that don't make sense. I've got the photos under my arm, because she can't argue with them. She can argue with me but not with them. How can't you see the love in that smile? I was there.

A deep breath relieves the pressure on the lungs, and I miss the smell of patchouli.




"I have to show you something."